


It Will Come Back

by I_geek_therefore_I_live



Series: I can't get this damn songfic out of my head [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Small Towns, Songfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 01:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13916148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_geek_therefore_I_live/pseuds/I_geek_therefore_I_live
Summary: A chance meeting lasts far beyond one nightBased on Hozier's "It Will Come Back"





	It Will Come Back

“You have a good night Sam” you said as you laid some cash on the bar. You swayed slightly as you stood from the barstool, hoping Sam wouldn’t notice. He always did.

“You sure you don’t want me to call a cab? I know Hal’s probably asleep but he won’t say no to business.”

“The walk will do me good. It’s fine really,” You straightened your jacket trying to give off an air of sobriety, but settled for at least not complete drunkenness. You made your way across the small neighborhood bar and pulled on the creaky wooden door. An unflattering shade of red, the wood had to have been as old as Sam himself even if he wouldn’t admit it. The crisp night air stung your cheeks as you opened the door to leave the warm bar. A rush of winter wind billowed past and the smell of cheap beer and gave way to evergreen and chimney smoke.

“You call me when you get home d’ya hear?” Sam called out to you. You turned back and gave a small, hopefully reassuring smile.

“Of course.”

 

* * *

 

You may have lived closer to the outskirts of the small town but you enjoyed the walk nonetheless. The light snowfall dancing around you must have started while you in the bar. Patches of snow sprinkled the ground like powdered sugar atop a flourless chocolate cake. This town wasn’t much to look at 300 days of the year, but you looked forward to late night strolls in the winter. Those who had lived here their whole life griped about the snow and slush, filling their boots and driveways. It was the same horrid winter stories from the same people, but you loved it. You had never lived anywhere so small in your life, let alone one that experienced all 4 seasons.

Your mind drifted slightly to the last place you had thought to call “home” but you quickly tried to push it aside. It left an uncomfortable pit in your stomach that squashed down the warmth you had acquired from the alcohol you recently filled it with. Not all your walks started in a drunken stupor but during this time of year both the walk and the alcohol kept certain things off your mind, most commonly the glaring fact that in this town you were alone. You had come to run from something but when you realized nothing was following you, you were too lazy to leave. At least that’s what you tell yourself, not that the idyllic charm and friendly people caused you to stay. Still it would be nice if someone a little more than “just friendly” gave you more reason to stay. But these thoughts were the reason you placated yourself with trips to Sam’s bar. At least you had a Mr. Jack Daniel waiting for you at home to continue your drunken escapade of a night.

A dull roar playing over the wind pulled you out of your thoughts. It was odd at this time of night for anyone to be up if they weren’t at Sam’s. You hoped that Sam hadn’t sent someone after you, it would be a huge waste of time. You could just see the outline of your small rental a block and a half away.

As the roar got closer you quickly realized that it was a motorcycle not a car, which meant no townspeople, at least not a sane one. Probably just a wayward traveler. You hoped they were close to where they were trying to get, the snow had started to fall harder in your last block of walking and this time of year was not favorable to spontaneous joyrides. Not with the beginnings of a snowstorm looming overhead.

It wasn’t favorable to lingering walkers either. You were so perplexed as to why you decided to stop and stare at the incoming biker. You were so close to home you couldn’t fathom what had gotten into you, why your mind was urging you to keep going but every fiber in your body had planted your feet to the ground. You weren’t physically frozen, not temperature wise at least, but as the roar got louder and the motorcycle closer and you couldn’t help yourself.

It was hard to make out much with the speed and the snow, but you saw a streak of red billow in the wind. You could barely make out any physical details of the rider, black clothes making them appear shapeless against the white landscape behind them. They looked big, probably a whole head taller than you, and stronger, surely not a man you wanted to meet in dark alley. Then again you would probably never meet them. They were passing you now, soon they would be back off into the night, passing ships and all that, but then they turned to look at you as well.

You stared into deep dark eyes, so dark that the glint of moon on the freshly fallen snow couldn’t illuminate it. It felt like time had stopped, the beating of your heart pounded loudly in your ears, you didn’t even know it had been beating so hard. Your mouth fell open, the hot breath falling from your lips, wafting its way up in front of your eyes, the only indicator you had a made such a movement. It felt like your whole body had seized up except for your head that swiveled like an owl watching a mouse trying to scurry across a meadow, but as nice as that analogy was you weren’t the owl in this scenario. You felt smaller the mouse. For a man only existing in your life for this briefest of moments you couldn’t explain how he made you feel this way. Why you felt like he had sunk his teeth into you and was dragging you with him.

You hadn’t even noticed how far he had gotten until he swerved slightly motorcycle going one way and him another, still struggling to hang on. That was all you could see before a crunch of metal and creak of wood heralded the end of the crash. A deathly silence hung in the air and whatever had held you in that one spot had vanished. 

You darted forward coming first to the motorcycle. It was a classic, vintage even; a Harley-Davidson Dyna Street Bob. It had to have been from the earlier part of the century. Before 2020. Retrofitted for road changes, but still ran on gas and tires. It was a beauty despite its age. Or it was. It sat at your feet, dashed to hell against an even older oak tree. Looking back into the road you could see a pothole that had been giving you trouble in the fall was covered in ice and snow, a rough patch that must have caused him to swerve. He jumped the curb and into a fence before the tree gave the final stop.

But where was the rider? All you managed to grab from the wreckage was a beat-up cowboy hat, peeking out of an emptied saddle bag. You were glad he didn’t follow the same fate as his motorcycle, but torn fabric lingered on the broken fence and a few drops of blood mingled with fresh fallen snow.

You continued running down the street, hands gripping tightly to the hat, picking up what might have been a few footprints on the sidewalk. Your mind raced with what ifs and possibilities. He’d only just crashed, he couldn’t have gotten far. If he could walk away from it he had to be, fine, right? Maybe you would run into him just as he was calling the police. Or maybe someone else had heard the crash and was already helping him out.

Or maybe he was sprawled out on your front porch.

The large man darkened your doorway, his black leather jacket stark against the accumulated snow. The remains of a busted-up helmet laid to his side, bloody palm prints all over it, matching the red of the cover on his chest. You approached cautiously, unsure if the man was conscious let alone alive. You could see his labored breathing fog the air around his mouth and nose. Good, you thought, at least he wasn’t dead. As you stepped on your front steps the cold wood gave a familiar creak and the man’s eyes darted open. He looked frantic like a cornered animal as he tried to jump up to his feet, but stumbled forward and right into you. You barely caught him and yourself from taking another dive in the snowy concrete. 

“Are you alright? Was that your motorcycle?” You tried to talk to him, but all you could get out of him was incoherent rambling until he once again passed out, his full weight slumping forward onto you. Deciding that nothing good was going to come of staying outside any longer, you trudged as best as you could back up your porch and into your home. You may have dropped him as soon as you crossed the threshold but you hoped he wouldn’t notice. You dragged his body to your couch and you were surprised he fit as well as he did, with only one leg hanging off. You placed his hat on the coffee table, removed his boots and jacket and assessed the damage. A wide gashed cut into side and while the bleeding had slowed the wound looked deep and painful.

Wasting no time, you pulled your phone out of your pocket to dial 911. A large, cold hand settled over your screen before you could press call.

“What…what do you think your doin’?” the man rasped out. You weren’t sure if he was disoriented but he seemed to be in some pain.

“It’s ok now. I’m calling an ambulance. You were in an accident, you’re hurt.” You said trying to reassure him.

“I know I was in a damn accident.” The man snapped and you eyed him warily. “No ambulance. No cops. I’m fine.” 

“Fine? Can you feel the gash in your side? I’m not letting some asshole die on my couch because he may have a concussion and can’t tell he needs stitches.” If he was going to be a sarcastic shit after you offered him help then you would be too. 

You moved his hand away to unlock your phone again, but he swatted your phone out of your hands and onto the floor. He looked winded by the action but you gave a sharp glare. Hurt or not this was too much.

“I said I’m fine…can patch it up m’self.” He said between rasps.

“Yourself? How do you think you can do that when you can barely keep your head up?

“You’re gonna help me” He gave you a pointed stare but you quickly darted your eyes in any direction but his face.

“Me? Oh I don’t-,”

“You got whiskey?” He gave you a hard stare but you couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Yeah but-,”

“Coffee, needles, string, towels, bandages?”

“I mean, yes but I-,”

“Then we’re doing this here. No ambulance. Just me and you” He sat up a little bit as he if had just clearly won this argument.  You were boiling at how self-assured he seemed right now.

“Nope. I think the fuck not. I’m not qualified for this and I’m not putting your death on my conscience because you think you’re too good for a goddamn hospital!” You quickly stood up to run to the landline when a large hand grabbed your wrist. It wasn’t rough but firm. As you looked back ready to tear his entitled head off you happened to gaze into the dark eyes again. You got a good look this time and could see now they were brown. Rich and deep like chestnut. You could see the raw emotion and adrenaline in them and while they seemed wild you couldn’t tell exactly how much. You knew the moonlight shining through the windows wasn’t doing them justice, but at this rate you weren’t sure if you would ever see them in the sun. Or if you would ever even want to.

“Please.” The hand loosened and the wild, hard resolve gave way to pain and desperation. Something in the man shifted, the bravado flooding away and whatever was left brought you back to the moment you first saw him. It brought back to the fact that no matter what happened next, he could be running out of time and you needed to make a decision.

“Is instant coffee ok?” you sighed. His mouth twitched upwards slightly.

“It’s perfect darlin’,” he intoned a southern drawl you were just noticing peeking through.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you muttered under your breath as you walked to the kitchen to collect everything you needed.

* * *

 

You couldn’t believe you had just done this. As you stood in your shower you finally took stock of everything that had happened in the last hour. Your living room was a war zone. You had ruined 3 good towels and spilled coffee on your living room rug. You had also somehow managed to stitch up a 6-foot-tall stranger in said living room on your couch. Talk about a wild Friday night. Your buzz was gone and even the adrenaline from the crash had flooded out of you a while ago. You placed your head directly under the spout, hoping the warm water would wash away the anxiety, but the memories kept flooding over you instead.

_You walked back into the living room glass of water in hand. All the whiskey was gone, either applied to the wound or downed by you and or your patient. He was sitting up now, hat on his head, legs sprawled out in front of him. He looked appreciative to the glass in your hand but you swore you could see something else underneath. Something a bit unsavory._

_“Thank you kindly, darlin’. You know, I didn’t catch your name.”_

_“(Y/N). You?” You slumped in a chair next to him, resting your legs on your cluttered coffee table. The pet name was new but you were too tired to put any stock in it._

_“McCree.” He spoke hesitantly. If he was trying to gauge your reaction you didn’t think he would pick up on anything but incredulity._

_“That’s a dumb first name.” You blurted out, tiredness and drunkenness shutting off any filters. “You got anything else I can call you by?” McCree chuckled slightly._

_“Just McCree for now, sugar.” You laughed slightly back, but your thoughts quickly drifted to what would happen now. As if picking up on your hesitation, McCree pushed himself off the couch._

_“Well, I best be going.” He started towards the door, you could see each step was a pain. You did something brash._

_“Where do you think you’re going?”_

_“This was not my final destination, darlin’. I got to keep moving.”_

_“You aren’t going anywhere in the middle of this snowstorm. Your bike is a wreck. Were you just going to walk to wherever you were going? The next town isn’t for another 10 miles.”_

_The man gave a frustrated grunt. He knew you were right but he seemed to want to get far from here. You knew the look of someone who was running. But you also knew the look of someone who needed a break._

_“You should really rest some more. Besides no one’s going to be able to look at the motorcycle until the morning anyway. Not to mention the amount of repair it’s going to need. The chassis is warped and the engine block will need to be replaced.”_

_“What makes you the expert all of a sudden?”_

_“You happened to crash in front of one of this town’s two mechanics.” You said very smug, a drunken smirk creeping up your face.”_

_“Just my luck.”_

_“Look, just stay the night. Until the storm lets up at least. I’ll look at your bike first thing in the morning and get it towed. You’re out of the frying pan, no need to jump back into the fire so quickly.”_

_McCree eyed you hesitantly but as he let out big sigh you knew you had won. My how the turns had tabled. Or something like that._

_“There’s a bathroom down the hall. I’ll just take a quick shower first. Help yourself to the kitchen.”_

 

You turned off the water but didn’t get out. It had become abundantly clear to you that the shower curtain and bathroom door was the only thing between you and the stranger in your living room. A stranger you had invited to stay the night.

Your heart started to race slightly. You knew nothing about McCree. You didn’t even know his first name. You knew he didn’t want cops involved. And you knew he was rough around the edges and that he was running from something. Red flags if you had ever seen any. But you also knew he was hurt. You couldn’t just retract your offer. You couldn’t let him just brave the cold because of slight paranoia.

You let out a deep sigh knowing that the most you would do is barricade your bedroom door and hope he didn’t steal anything while you were asleep. You pulled back the shower curtains just in time to meet McCree as he opened the bathroom door. It felt like an eternity had passed before you both let out a loud yelp, punctuated by him slamming the door and you pulling back the curtains.

“Um, ever heard of knocking first?!” You yelled. You could hear the door creak open slightly, much more timid than just a second ago.

“I didn’t mean to walk in on ya! I was outside smoking. I didn’t hear the shower stop, thought you had left.

“It’s fine,” you let out an exasperated sigh, “Look if you’re going to stick around can you just hand me my towel.” You were unsure if you believed his story, but a large, calloused hand shot through the shower curtain, your fuzzy blue towel firm within its grasp. You quickly wrapped it around yourself not bothering to dry much before stepping out. As you hurriedly stepped out of the shower you would soon realize this was probably a mistake as your wet foot slipped on the tiles and sent you backwards.

The sound of your feet flying from under you and the startled gasp that left your mouth were the only things you could register as you waited for the hard floor to greet you. You hadn’t realized you had even closed your eyes until you were met face to face with the embarrassed cowboy that was standing in the bathroom doorway only half a second ago. You started to notice other things like the two large arms wrapped around you, full of muscles, warm and smelling of cigar smoke.

He righted you instantly, a blush on his face matching yours.

“Um, t-thank you.” You had to clear your throat slightly to get the words out. You rushed out before you heard his response.

You hurried down the hall to your bedroom and closed the door. You pressed your back against it and realized just how fast your heart was beating. From what though, you weren’t sure. You wanted to believe it was fear. Your brain was telling you to call Sam, call the police, call anyone. You were home alone with a stranger. For all you know you could have let a serial killer into your home. This should terrify you. But it didn’t. You weren’t sure if you wanted to admit it but everything about McCree relaxed you. His voice, his eyes, his arms around you. It all made you feel safe. It warmed you up better than the alcohol did. And maybe that’s what started that small muscle in your chest to wake up after all this time.

You let out a sigh and put on your pajamas, an oversized shirt and some fuzzy shorts. You slowly opened the door and heard the faucet in the bathroom still running. You decided to head to the kitchen for some cold water and sober thoughts. You tried to walk pass the bathroom quickly hoping to not repeat the earlier awkward incident. You were halfway across the living room when your landline started to ring. At first you were confused, wondering who would call at this time of night. Then you were hesitant. What would happen if you picked it up? McCree was adamant about no cops and you weren’t sure if the gag order extended to everyone else. What if was the cops who called? The phone was still ringing.

“H-hello?” you uttered out, mentally kicking yourself for picking up the phone.

“(Y/N)? You there?” It was Sam. You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. You had forgotten to let him know you made it back.

“Sam,” you sighed, “Of course. It would be kind of hard to pick up the phone if I wasn’t home”

“You had me scared half to death. Thought you were lying asleep in a snowbank. I almost called Sheriff Mason.” He said relieved but stern.

“No!,” You said a bit too quickly. “No, sorry. I’m fine. No need for that. I’m sorry I didn’t call you, I just took a shower when I got home and got caught up in a few things. Just sorry, yeah.” You were rambling. You were hoping he wouldn’t pick up on it, but Sam always did.

“Are you sure you are ok?” he said in that wonderful caring voice he reserved for when he knew you weren’t.

“I-,” You paused. The fear resurged from the depth of your stomach and you choked on your words. This was your chance to say something. To say anything. To scream that there was a man in your bathroom running from something and that you didn’t want to find out what it was. But then you remembered McCree lying on your couch in pain needing your help. You remembered him laughing with you about his injuries. You remember his arms wrapped around you in the bathroom.

“(Y/N)? You still there?” Sam pulled you out of your thoughts.

“Huh. Oh! Yeah, sorry. Just dozing over here, sorry. I’m fine, Sam. Thanks for always checking up on me. I’ll swing by at lunch tomorrow with those donuts you like. I certainly owe you that much.” You felt bad lying to him, but you knew you would have felt worse selling out McCree.

“Alright. Well goodnight, (Y/N)”

“Goodnight, Sam.” You hung up the phone and sighed. You still felt something nagging at the back of your mind but you knew you made the right choice. At least for tonight.

“Thank you” a low voice rumbled behind you. You spun around quickly face to face with McCree. His hair was wet and pushed back out of his face. He smelled like cinnamon and cigar smoke. You weren’t sure where the cinnamon came from but you weren’t complaining. He was also shirtless, not that you were complaining about that either. A towel rested on his shoulders not covering much. Scars littered his torso and it took you a lot of willpower not to run your fingers down a long one that crossed his chest.

 “That was nothing really. Sam just checks up on me from time to time.” you said trying not seem flustered.

“Not just about that. I’ve been a little short on “southern hospitality” this evening but you patched me up, and gave me a place to sleep anyway. Hell, you even offered to fix my bike.” He seemed hesitant with his words. Not because heh was shy but it just seemed like he was out of practice.

“It’s really no problem. You needed help. Anyone would have done the same.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, (Y/N). I’ve been all around this country and this kind of hospitality is rarer than rain in the desert.” You didn’t think yourself shy but at the praise and compliments you turned away. He placed a hand under chin and turned you back towards him. “I owe you my life and I always repay my debts.” His thumb dangerously close to swiping over your lips. You very dangerously close to reaching out to pull him closer.

Just as the tension felt like it was coming to a head, he pulled away, removing his hand to run it through your hair.

“Maybe next time I come back to this town though. You should get some rest. I’m sure it’s been a long night.”

All you could was nod. Your feet somehow managed to get you back to your room. Your body was on autopilot. You closed the door, tucked yourself in and laid there staring at the ceiling wondering just what had happened in those last 5 minutes.

 

The next thing you remember was your alarm going off to get ready for work. You stumbled out of bed, tripping over yourself to get to the living room. All your furniture and electronics were still in their spots, but the mystery cowboy was not. All evidence of last night was cleaned up. All that was left was a bag on the living room table, and a note with your name on it.

 

_For the new engine block. See you soon –Jesse_

Inside the bag was thousands of dollars and more questions you couldn’t wait to have answered. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave feedback it's greatly appreciated!


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